"Then you have come to congratulate me; thank"—
"Pardon me!" interrupted Dr. Hornblower, as stiffly as if his rheumatism had suddenly penetrated from his joints to his manners. "It is not yet the time for congratulation; and, when the hour comes, it is I who will receive them."
"You?" And Louise stared at the Reverend Gabriel in unfeigned astonishment.
"At least, so it is to be hoped," returned the doctor gravely.
For a moment, there was an awkward pause, while Louise wondered whether the worthy minister had suddenly taken leave of his senses, and the doctor writhed uneasily in his chair, as he realized that his hour had come. The hush was beginning to be painful, and Louise was just opening her lips to speak, to say something, no matter what, when she was suddenly struck speechless by seeing the Reverend Gabriel lay his hat and cane on the floor beside his chair, then clumsily kneel down before her and clasp his hands. For one brief instant, she supposed that he was about to give her the benefit of his professional services, and she composed her face to listen with befitting gravity; but his first words dispelled the illusion.
"Louisa," he began, in a tone so devoid of expression as to suggest the possibility of his having written out the words and committed them to memory; "Louisa, behold me a suppliant before you, begging, imploring"—
But Louise had started from her chair, and stood facing him, her cheeks white with mortification for herself and pity for him.
"Dr. Hornblower," she begged hastily; "get up, please! You mustn't say any more."
"But you do not catch my full meaning," he went on. "I ask you"—
"Get up at once," she repeated. "You mustn't say it; it's impossible! Suppose some one should come in. Oh, do get up!"